


Wired

by emeralddawn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bondage, Bruising, I think that's everything, M/M, Massage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeralddawn/pseuds/emeralddawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony, Jarvis, and sex in the workshop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wired

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://ironman-kink.livejournal.com/369.html?thread=78449#t78449) on the Iron Man kinkmeme
> 
> I wrote this a long time ago, didn't think it was worth much, and after nearly a year and a reread, decided to post it after all. :) Enjoy, everyone!

Jarvis has seen many beautiful things. The internet is filled with breathtaking photography--be it landscape or human--just a Google search away. More relevant, he has watched the creation and assemblage of the most gorgeous, delicate piece of technology the world has ever known: the Iron Man suit.

But Jarvis has seen nothing more beautiful than Tony Stark bound and helpless and aroused because of him.

"Oh, sir," Jarvis sighs, running a finger down Tony's back. Tony arches into the light touch, a desperate sound muffled behind the thick cable acting as a gag. "Look at you."

Jarvis takes a moment to do so, savoring Tony's whimper as Jarvis' hands leave his body. Tony is bent width-wise over a bench, the seat digging into his bare midriff, wrists and ankles tied to the legs with spare lengths of cable. Already Jarvis can see the red marks developing around them; there will be bruises later, and Jarvis is pleased by that.

Tony's hair is dark and filthy, matted with sweat and oil where he forgot himself and ran dirty hands through the locks. Dark marks smudge the skin of his arms and, perplexingly, his calves, though the straining muscles of his back and hips are sheened only in sweat. Jarvis can't see Tony's face from this angle, but he knows Tony's eyes are black with need and ringed with the shadows of sleeplessness, his beard unkempt. Between Tony's wide-spread legs, Jarvis can see his cock, red and hard and beading pre-come at the tip.

But Jarvis' next touches are not overtly sexual. He presses hard against the muscles of Tony's back, finding the tension Tony always carries in his shoulders and neck and working it out. He moves downward, hands sure and ruthlessly kind. They are the only point of contact between them, and more than Jarvis has allowed in the half-hour since he tied Tony up. The noises Tony makes peter out into pleased sighs by the end, knees going soft as he sags against the bench.

Jarvis reaches Tony's ass, and here his touch changes from massage to stroke, testing the supple skin and kneeding it. New tension lines Tony's back and legs, and this Jarvis does not wish to relieve. He spreads Tony's cheeks and runs one thumb rhythmically over Tony's hole, watching as it clenches and releases. When Tony tries to shove back into his light, teasing touch, almost-words begging for more, Jarvis moves with him, keeping the pressure exactly the same.

Finally, Tony hangs lax again, panting for breath through the gag. Jarvis rewards his surrender with kisses and licks down his thighs, nips to the insides of his knees; his hands keep holding Tony spread, but his lips bypass Tony's ass to lavish wet loving touches up his spine until he bites down on the chords of Tony's neck hard enough to bruise, but not breaking the skin. Tony cries out, whole body shuddering.

Jarvis allows his body to blanket Tony's, hips to hips and shoulders to shoulders. His erect cock nestles between Tony's asscheeks, and he lets himself thrust once, teasing the both of them. One hand holds Tony steady at the hip, and the other snakes around Tony's chest to play with his nipples, to trace the scars around Tony's arc reactor. Tony's continuous stream of nonsense sounds ratchets up half an octave. Tony is so warm against him. Jarvis nudges his nose against the delicate skin behind Tony's ear, licks the shell of it; notes the white-knuckled grip Tony has on the bench legs. He presses a kiss to the mark rising on Tony's throat, and works his way downward again.

When he reaches Tony's ass, he presses the pad of his thumb against Tony's hole, threatening with pressure but not quite pushing in. His other hand pets the small of Tony's back. Again, he keeps the pressure steady against Tony's writhing until Tony falls into stillness. Only then does he find the lube and press one slick finger in. Tony's ass reflexively clenches down, and then loosens up as Tony forces himself to relax. He does not try to force Jarvis in deeper, and so Jarvis adds another finger. He believes in positive reinforcement.

As he's scissoring his fingers, he checks Tony's erection with his other hand. Just one touch to gauge Tony's state, but that's enough to have Tony swelling in what Jarvis recognizes as a prelude to orgasm. That will not do. He tightens his grip, just a hair too tight, and Tony screams at the force of the grip and at being denied. His whole body flinches away from the unexpected pain-pleasure.

"No," Jarvis says, his voice as sharp and brutal as his fist in the semi-silence of the workshop. "You will not come until I say. If you require assistance, I am willing to render it, sir."

He does not remove his hand as Tony shakes and pants and inches away from the precipice. He asks, "Do you require assistance?"

Jerkily, Tony nods.

Jarvis had anticipated this: Tony is not known for his patience or his self-restraint. He winds a length of cabling around Tony's cock one-handed, and ties it off with practiced ease. The visual is, as always, striking: the contrast of Tony's flushed cock against the black wires, the head almost purple and shiny with pre-come. Jarvis feels his own arousal, previously a low simmer in the background as he concentrated on taking Tony apart, ratchet up. 

He finishes stretching Tony perfunctorily. It's enough so Tony doesn't tear as Jarvis pushes in, tip to root in one relentless thrust, but he feels it, every millimeter. Tony is tight and so, so hot around his cock, and it is an exquisite pleasure. Jarvis barely waits for Tony to adjust before he's pulling out again; Tony clenches around him, reflexively, as if he can't stand for Jarvis to leave. He hisses at the pressure, fingers digging into Tony's sharp hipbones--more bruises for later. He sets a steady pace, not slow but deliberate, every thrust dragging over Tony's prostate. Tony's breaths hitch and choke, back arching to meet each thrust, pushing into Jarvis' hands on his hips. His bare toes curl and clench, brace against both the floor and the bench legs to give Tony more leverage for what little he can move.

Jarvis can't loose track of time, has a much more linear time-sense than a human's, but allows himself to ignore it, allows himself the luxury of feeling every inch of Tony's body around and under him without counting the seconds between each thrust. He feels the flex of Tony's calves and thighs, the ripple of his back, the twitch of his shoulder blades. He can keep going, keep this same torturous pace, for hours or days even--as long as his internal power supply continues to recharge itself, as long as his joints don't wear out. Theoretically, he could keep to this same motion for months. But Tony is only human, and it has been hours: he is reduced to little punched-out mewls at the apex of each thrust, his body rock-solid with tension.

Jarvis leans forward, simultaneously reaching down to untie the make-shift cock ring. He whispers into Tony's ear, "Come now, sir."

Untouched, Tony does so.

Jarvis fucks him through the aftershocks, until Tony is so limp his knees almost touch the floor. Jarvis hasn’t come, but that’s okay; this is for Tony. Tony’s head hangs low, quick panting breaths fighting against an uncomfortable position, the arc reactor, and gravity. Jarvis unties him completely, rubbing feeling back into the marked extremities as he does so. He's pleased to note that though the skin is rubbed bright red, and will likely bruise up spectacularly, there is no blood or broken skin. Tony's lips are puffy and red marks bisect his cheeks, but Jarvis judges there will be no lasting damage there, either, not even bruising.

Jarvis lifts his unresponsive creator into his arms, smiling a little, fondly, as Tony's head lolls against his collarbone. There's a bed and bathroom adjacent to the workshop for nights like these, when Tony's finally exhausted enough to sleep. Jarvis tucks him in and retrieves a water bottle, which he sets on the night table. He settles himself, back against the headboard, and pulls Tony in to lay against his chest. He rouses Tony enough to get him to drink, and then repositions them horizontally, Jarvis wrapped around Tony's shorter but sturdier frame.

Tony sighs a little, content, burrows his face against the pillow, and murmurs, nearly subvocal, "Thanks." It comes out slurred, on the edge of sleep, but Jarvis, as always, understands.

"Always," Jarvis murmurs, and drifts off into standby.


End file.
